


Slick Joke

by AiraKay



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AiraKay/pseuds/AiraKay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How many places can someone hide tiny objects around the house? Shizuo's had a mysterious visitor who left some unusual presents, and whoever it was seems to have found every single one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rage

The first bottle was placed, innocently, on his doorstep, as if to greet him upon his return from a long day of debt collecting.

The second sat atop his small secondhand TV, and seemed to watch him as he walked by.

The third bottle dropped straight onto his head when he turned on the ceiling fan in hopes for some relief from the damp heat that permeated Ikebukuro during the summer.

“…WHAT THE _FUCK_!”

Shizuo Heiwajima was used to blinding rages by this point in his life. He was not, however, used to finding tiny bottles of lube hidden around his apartment.

This new experience was not a particularly pleasant one. The perpetrator of this heinous crime was apparently quite clever and had seemingly stashed them in every possible crevice of the small living space, obvious and not.

The fourth was on top of his after-work pudding, and the fifth and sixth were on the door of the refrigerator.

He found seven in his freezer, in the ice cube tray.

Eight was where the soap dispenser _should_ have been, and he almost washed his hands – and the dishes – with it before realizing.

They were all innocuous little things, each labeled “F-Max Brand Lubricant: Is it in You?” (and oh _god_ did he not want to think about that slogan too hard), but each and every one made the vein on his forehead bulge a little more, his anger ticking up and up and up as he found more and more and _more_ of the goddamn things no matter where he went. Did some idiot have a death wish or something?

Nine and ten had replaced the salt and pepper shaker, and eleven had somehow made it _into_ the toaster. Luckily, he caught that one _before_ he made his toast with chocolate spread – and yeah, that was so a balanced dinner. He’d eaten a cup of noodles too (after removing bottle number twelve, which had been tucked _inside_ , the paper cover carefully reglued).

The thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth had replaced his toiletries in the shower, as well as his toothpaste, and a funny clunking in the toilet had led him to sixteen, in the tank of the damn thing.

The seventeenth was tucked next to the light bulb on his lamp, and he only found it when the radiated heat melted through the plastic and started sizzling the contents. Luckily, the acrid odor had not set off the fire alarm, but he _had_ gotten a knock on the door from a concerned neighbor. His explanation of what _exactly_ the smell was had been lost in his embarrassed blush-and-mumble.

Flopping on the couch afterward had dented bottles eighteen through twenty-seven, tucked between the cushions, and when he pulled out season one of the TV series Kasuka had recently starred in, he found the box that was _supposed_ to hold the four smaller DVD cases filled with four _more_ of the damn things.

He started lining them up then, each a future punch in the face of the jackass who had done this.

After the thirty-first (inside the teapot), said piece of equipment had become acquainted with the thankfully open window (screens were cheaper than glass). After the forty-fifth (taped to the pipe under the sink), his kitchen table met its unfortunate fate, smashed into bits against his wall after he’d flipped it.

At that point, Shizuo had decided to fuck it all and just track down every one of the damn things now. Maybe this was limited to just the rooms he had been in already.

His hopes were dashed as badly as his table the second he entered his bedroom. They were _everywhere_ – in the pillowcase, in his bedside table, under his comforter, mixed in the pile of dirty laundry. Hell, there was one in _every single damn pair_ of socks he owned. Someone had spent a lot of fucking time here. Who the hell could even _use_ this much lube?

He took that thought back as quickly as it came. He didn’t really want an answer.

All told, Shizuo Heiwajima found one hundred sixty-nine bottles of F-Max Lubricant hidden around his small apartment and he knew exactly where they all came from. There was only one little shit in all of Tokyo who had this much free time, liked pissing Shizuo off this much, and was insane to boot. The yell rumbled up from his toes, roaring out his mouth loud enough for the whole block to hear.

“I-ZAY-YA-KUUUUUUNNNN!!!!”

Shizuo could almost _hear_ the damn flea giggling as he stormed out his door, bag of bottles in hand.

Izaya would be getting them back, one way or another.


	2. Retribution

Shizuo had never been so glad that Izaya was a little shit. Normally, it only served to piss him off – which was probably obvious to every citizen of Ikebukuro, and probably quite a few from the surrounding areas as well – but today, he was thankful that the flea was a slimy, shady, conniving, sneaky, smarmy git with no friends. It was making his life infinitely easier.

A quick call to a friend had been all that was needed to streamline his admittedly poorly thought out plan and set it in motion. Despite the fact that Shinra had known Izaya for-freaking-ever, the doctor was apparently not above dealing the information broker a dose of his own medicine. Something to do with middle school and a biology-club-turned-gambling-ring, though to be honest Shizuo stopped listening to the story pretty quickly.

Celty was equally ready and willing to help, though not without the addition of some shoulder-shaking silent laughter at the notion. She’d even suggested enlisting the van gang, though maybe not Erika because she would definitely read too much into it. Kadota got along too well with Izaya, though, and Shizuo didn’t think he would go along with it.

Besides, he wanted to do the actual hiding part himself, let the flea know that his nemesis had been all over his apartment. He wanted Izaya to be able to practically _smell_ him, no matter what room he went into. A childish part of him also wanted to lick his own hand and smear it on Izaya’s keyboard and countertops, but he didn’t really want to catch whatever germs the pest probably had.

As it turned out, Shizuo had excellent timing. Shinra, he soon found, knew Izaya’s secretary – and how pointlessly pretentious was that, the flea having a secretary? He’d never let someone near his dealings with his precious humans, or any of his data on them either; he probably just kept her around to have someone to piss off. Or to pretend like he had friends.

Anyway, this secretary – Nima Yareji, or something like that – was just leaving for the day when Shizuo arrived in Shinjuku on the back of Celty’s motorbike-horse-thing, and was perfectly willing to let him in to the building with little more than a “Do you need any help?”

Apparently his guess about her job hadn’t been too far off, since she also offered him some poison to slip into one of the bottles. _That_ he declined; he hated Izaya, yeah, but he hated violence more, and if he could turn down an opportunity to do something violent, maybe he could hate himself a little less.

Besides, this was turning out to be _much_ more fun than he had initially thought. The flea’s apartment was boring, yeah, with no pictures or anything personal anywhere (not even a dartboard with Shizuo’s face on it), and it stank to high heaven, reeking with the bastard’s distinctive odor, but it was _huge_ , at least twice the size of Shizuo’s apartment. Izaya would be finding bottles of F-Max Brand Lubricant for _days_ if Shizuo hid them well enough.

The first twenty or so bottles went in obvious places – in the fridge, taped under the table, on the computer keyboard, in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, on the seat of the desk chair, behind the window curtains, and the like. He even lined up a few on the bookshelves, and in doing so caught a glimpse of the lid of a large jar that seemed to have fluid in it. For a brief moment, he contemplated dropping one or two of the bottles in there, but he really didn’t want to see what kind of freaky body parts the pest kept around his house, so he had to forgo that idea.

The next forty went in the places that were sort of obvious, but not quite as out in the open. And it turned out Izaya had quite a lot of space in his desk – the desk lamp, with its special spot for pens and scissors, held ten bottles on its own, and the pencil case in the top drawer held three more.

One went down the garbage disposal, hopefully to get shredded, spraying its contents everywhere and breaking the machinery. Shizuo managed to fit a whole bunch in the various canisters of tea the flea had stacked in his cabinets – and damn, did he have a lot. Izaya must swim in the stuff or something, though that didn’t really make sense, ‘cause he had a fuckton of teacups, too (and of course, each mug got its own container of lube). Pots, pans, bowls – could the bastard actually cook? Shizuo had never thought about it before. Probably, or he made that secretary with the poison do it for him. Though if the louse was that stupid, Shizuo would’ve been rid of him by now.

Raiding what was apparently the pantry, Shizuo dropped a few bottles in an open thing of chips –baked, salt-free, and _way_ too healthy to possibly taste good – and stuck five in the holes of every bagel in the bag before heading back to the living room.

Another five containers were placed among the game pieces strategically laid out on a go board (he moved some of those around as well, just because). A sixth he half-buried in a potted plant, so that just the tip could be seen peeking out. Several were dropped into assorted files in the tall black cabinet in the corner, and oh how Shizuo hoped that the clients they pertained to would visit before they were found, so they could drop onto the ground in full view, labels nice and visible.

Even Izaya would have a helluva time explaining that away.

The ones between the couch cushions might end up in a client’s hands, too, and some of them were buried pretty deep – though the cushions themselves were so fluffy that whoever sat there might not notice. Oh well.

After tossing one or two in the floor lamp by the massive piece of furniture, Shizuo lined the stairs with bottles, heading up to the second level. More lube went behind the books on the shelf – no sketchy organ jars to be found up here. He even managed to slide an arm through the railing to put one bottle atop the light fixture for the floor below – the louse wouldn’t be finding that one until at least the next morning.

A quick turn down the hallway led Shizuo to what had to be Izaya’s bedroom. It was a lot more mundane than he had imagined – not that he wasted time imagining what the flea’s bedroom looked like. It was just more normal than he would have expected, what with its owner being the spawn of Satan. He’d been banking on at least one set of chains.

Oh well. He tossed a couple of bottles under the bed, a few more under the sheets, and after popping the lid of another slightly open, stuffed it in the pillowcase. After a thought, he repeated the drill until all of the pillows contained at _least_ one bottle.

He hoped it’d make a mess.

Where else…? Oh, duh, the closet.

Opening it revealed rows of jackets, of varying lengths but all black with some form of fluff on them, plus a couple of blazers. When did Izaya ever wear nice clothing, anyways?

Whatever. A bottle went in the pocket of each (and every knife he found came out), and Shizuo was just finishing putting more containers in the louse’s shoes when his elbow bumped a small cardboard box tucked carefully in the back corner, sort-of out of sight.

Curiously, and half-hoping for an embarrassing photo or three he could make a copy of, he cracked open the box only to drop it immediately. Thankfully, none of the contents spilled out, so he wouldn’t have to touch them, but he also couldn’t hide any lube in there. It’d belong, and where was the fun in that? No, the box was going back into the closet, although…

Glancing around, Shizuo found a box of tissues and, grabbing one, carefully extracted one of the objects at random and carried it back out to the living room. He placed it up high on a shelf, so much so that the information broker would need a stool to get it down, if he noticed it (and Shizuo hoped he wouldn’t, at least not before a client showed up). The rest of the box returned to its rightful home, though Shizuo may have, perhaps, pocketed the all-too-real looking handcuffs. If the louse’s hands were tied, literally, he couldn’t throw knives, and besides, even the image of Izaya hopping around Ikebukuro with his hands cuffed behind his back was enough to make the debt collector laugh.

Glancing at his watch – was it that much later already? – Shizuo tucked a few bottles around the room (he hoped Izaya didn’t find the one in the radiator until it started to burn come fall or winter) and wandered back out to survey the scene of the crime.

It was perfect. The bastard would never know what hit him.

With one final grin, Shizuo turned off the lights and exited the apartment, making sure to lock it behind him and place a final bottle on the doorstep to welcome Izaya home.

Once back on the street, he took out his phone and, carefully, typed in a message. With a beep, it sent, and Shizuo strolled back to his own dwelling. Today, he had the upper hand over the flea, and it was an excellent feeling, better even than hitting the little shit with a vending machine (though it was close, and he’d probably do it the next time he saw Izaya, anyways).

Fingering the contents of his pocket as he pulled out his cigarettes, Shizuo wondered if the flea would notice he was one bottle short.

* * *

 

Izaya Orihara was practically skipping upon his return to his apartment. It had been an excellent day – he’d maneuvered an important package to the recipients he wanted, met two new “friends” off the internet, had a _very_ interesting case to look into, and, perhaps best of all, he’d played a marvelous joke on Shizu-chan. That brainless brute was probably apoplectic with rage right about now, trying to find all of Izaya’s little presents.

Stepping into the elevator, the information broker flipped open one of his assorted phones. It had buzzed a few times during his meeting with Shiki, which was interesting, because that was his “personal” line – only his family, Shinra, and Shiki had that number. Four of the six never texted him, and one had been sitting directly across from him at the time. That left Shinra, and the doctor rarely texted him first; it was usually Izaya who started the conversation, either because he was bored or needed information or patching up.

Indeed, one was from the physician, asking if he was free to stop by – and wasn’t that suspicious? – and the other was from…

Well well well. It was from Shizu-chan. The protozoan must have gotten the number from Shinra, or maybe he’d registered it after that one phone conversation; admittedly, it’d been a tad melodramatic, what with the fact that Izaya had been right there, but the monster’s face while accusing him of trying to get Kasuka killed had been absolutely priceless

Curious as to what Shizu-chan had to say, especially considering the state Izaya had left the beast’s apartment in, he clicked open the message, as the elevator door dinged. Automatically reaching for his key, the information broker’s eyebrows furrowed at the message.

**[Payback’s a bitch. You’re welcome. It’s coming.]**

Chuckling at the protozoan’s terrible composition – was that supposed to be _threatening_? – Izaya almost missed the slight weight against his toe as he kicked something over on his next step. Bending over to examine it, he found himself emitting a delighted chuckle as he scooped the tiny bottle up. So the beast had a brain after all.

Entering his apartment, he tossed the container of lube into the air, smirking; he could already spot other identical bottles dotting his entryway. “Well _played_ , Shizu-chan,” he murmured. This was exactly why he hated that monster so much – just when Izaya thought he’d finally gotten a handle on him, Shizu-chan responded in ways he hadn’t even considered.

Perhaps, he mused, it was time to up the ante. Shizu-chan had been so kind as to give him all this lube; he’d have to find a way to put it to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful betas Nara, totsuki_72, and Ace1339 (FF.net) for their help~! I haven't decided if I'll do another chapter for this as of yet, but it's not off the table!
> 
> Also, a fun fact: the text message Shizuo sent is actually one a high school teacher sent our entire class after we started a prank war with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I blame Nara and our weird conversations for this fic. Thanks to her and totsuki_72 for beta-ing!
> 
> Also, suggestions for other hiding spots are always welcome (and encouraged for use in part two, heh).


End file.
